


Waiting Isn't for the Faint of Heart

by Silicu (silmil)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anger, Angst, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Chapter 802, Chapter Coda, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmil/pseuds/Silicu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years and counting. Hiding. Biding their time. Will they make it to their goal, as their allies fall one by one? Izo had never been good at giving answers, that was Marco's job. And Marco wasn’t on the Pequod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Isn't for the Faint of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, ok, I should be working on my prompts or on the WBweek, but this chapter left me with the mixed emotions of elation and hate that I had to vent my hate somehow. Marco became my way of doing that. Also, I need something to justify why they're allowing this in the first place. Anyway, beware of spoilers!

Marco wasn’t on the Pequod.

It was so very rare to have their brother out of their sight, so rare to have him missing when he was needed, and the very thought of it unnerved those who had noticed his absence.

And Izo knew very well that Marco being off the Pequod never boded well.

Regardless that the First Division Commander’s absence had started in the early morning, it was a long time before he could do anything about it. Because they all still had their responsibilities, and today’s newspaper had caused enough of a commotion to start more than one incident around the ship. His Division was restless, and so were even some of the other commanders.

And while Izo understood Marco, perhaps he understood him even better than the rest of them did, that did not mean he appreciated his brother’s moping.

When he finally left the ship in his search, he did so with irritation buzzing in the back of his mind, but when he found Marco most of it seemed to fizzle away.

He just sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, with one sandaled foot hanging and a newspaper crumpled to unrecognition in his iron grip. Izo was sure that the cliff facing south-west, the direction of an island that held nothing but hundreds of swords and two graves, was no accident.

Stopping a few steps behind his brother, he let his own shoulders sag for the barest of moments. He would get to scream at Marco in a moment, he would get to vent as much as any of them needed to, but in this one instant, he cast his thoughts to the father and brothers that were no longer by their side, and regret gripped his heart.

Izo didn’t dwell on it, though. He didn’t let himself get lost in it, he didn’t let it consume him. He channeled it into strengthening his resolve and crushing down any hesitation instead. Maybe he should teach Marco to do this. The man held far too much regret for a single heart to manage.

There was a sharp intake of breath that made Marco’s entire form seem to grow, before it was released in a sudden hiss that shook his shoulders violently.

“ _How_ ,” his voice was choked and unsteady, his head bowed and his entire body trembling with the strain of his emotions. “How am I supposed to just _stay_ here and-“ His words were broken up, voice rising higher and higher, until he was screaming, throwing the crushed remains of the paper over to flutter helplessly over the water. “And let him _do this_!?”

It broke Izo’s heart again, to see Marco in such turmoil. To see him so close to the _edge_ , literal as well as proverbial. To hear his ragged breaths that sounded like they were being forced into his lungs, to see him run shaking hands over his face, through his hair, until he could link his fingers on the shaved back of his head, bowing low into himself.

“How can I live with myself,” Marco choked out, shaky and on the edge of dangerous. “If I let him _continue_?”

Ever since that _day_ , that day that had cost them all so much, the crew had relied on Marco. Strong, unshakable Marco who had known Pops the longest and who’d been their First Mate and older brother since they’d all stepped aboard the Moby Dick. Dependable Marco, who always had a solution, or at the very least advice, who never let the stress of a situation get to him and reassured everyone with his stable control.

Unbreakable Marco, who was now so obviously falling apart.

“It’s not your responsibility to stop him,” Izo tried in a steady tone. “You shouldn’t take it so personally.”

“Personally?” Marco laughed a humorless laugh. “He’s looking for _me_. He’s killing _my friend_ s and repudiating _my family_. What part of this is not _personal_?” He hissed, his voice stronger now, less brittle and much, much more dangerous.

Izo had no answer to that. The actions of this wannabe were beyond offensive, beyond what any of them could tolerate. What was left of the crew now, two years after the War, was so tightly strung these last few months that conflict was brewing among them for lack of anywhere else to aim their aggression at. Izo himself had come here with the idea of throwing some of his frustration at Marco for skipping out on them that day.

It was only finding him like this, so shaken and unlike himself, and knowing he’d left to spare the rest of them from the sight of it, that made sharp shame at his intentions eat him up.

Dark, ugly shame, like every other emotion he’d felt in the last two years. Anger. Despair. Frustration. Guilt. Hate. Regret.

He was sure Marco hadn’t been much better. He was just better at hiding it. At bottling it all up. Only that would just make wounds open in his heart, the kind of wounds that his flames could never heal.

“We can _stop_ him,” Marco turned suddenly, all but jumping from his place. “We could hunt him down. Shit, just the slightest rumor of our location would bring him right to our doorstep.” He was pacing now, movements erratic and so far from his usual relaxed grace. “With all of us here and his exaggerated overconfidence we can send him swimming with the fishes easy!”

“And _then_ what?” Izo followed him with his gaze, trying to offer some of his own resigned acceptance together with his reasoning. “Teach catches a hold of this information, and that will be the last of us.”

“ _Let him come_!” Marco burst out once more, rounding on Izo. He wasn’t afraid of his brother, he never had been. But right now, he was a little afraid _for_ him. Marco never screamed. “Let him come before me _one more time_ and I will _break_ him-“

“We are _not ready_ ,” Izo screamed right back, knowing he needed to push against Marco before the man worked himself into too much of a frenzy. “We are not ready to defeat him yet, and inviting him here would be nothing less of suicide! Are you ready to see _more_ of our brothers die?”

“And letting our friends die is so much better?” Marco got up in his face. “A.O. Elmy. Zodia.”

“Stop it,” Izo hissed, pain rearing up in his chest.

“Hangan. Ninth. Vitan.”

“I said _stop it_ ,” Izo shot forward and grabbed him by the collar, shaking the man violently. “You think I don’t _know_ who he’s killed? You think I don’t wonder if there will be another name to add to that list every night? But we can’t reveal ourselves!”

“We can’t stay here, locked away from the world _forever_!” Marco shoved his hands away, but he stopped. Thank god, he _stopped_.

“You know this is only temporary. We have a plan, and we need to wait for the right time to do this. We need to let Teach think he’s won.” He insisted, trying to convince Marco that this son of a bitch Weeble was not worth throwing their plan away.

Marco’s anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving him looking defeated and empty. His head hung low and he ran a hand over his face as if trying to swipe away the years from it.

“I’m starting to wonder,” he said, quietly this time. “what the difference between letting him think he’s won, and actually letting him win is, eh.”

“It’s that, in the end, when the time comes, we’ll still come to tear him down,” Izo said in a hard, steady tone that had Marco looking up at him. “And the higher he builds his throne until then, the harder he is going to fall.”

“I’m just so _tired_ of watching this happen.” And he looked it. The last couple of years had made him look so very old, so tired. Like life itself was exhausting every strength he had and he’d lost the will to regain it. He’d lost his means of regaining it. God, but Izo understood that feeling so _well_.

“It’s been two years already,” he offered, although he knew that would be little comfort. “There’s just a little bit more and we’ll be there. And then, when we’re done with Teach, Weeble will be small fry.”

“I’ll make him beg Pops for forgiveness for everything he’s done before I kill him,” Marco said and, finally, there was a spark back in his eyes, even if it was one of threat and danger. “I will make him regret _every single person_ he’s killed.”

“We _all_ will.”

When they returned to the ship, things weren’t ok. Jiro was still taking his anger out all over the Pequod and Vista was still locked in his cabin. Marco still looked a little rough around the edges and his eyes were haunted. It wasn’t ok, but it was maybe a little better than it had been that same morning.

Izo knew nothing would ever truly be ok for them. Not before their self-imposed entrapment ended. They were all pirates, children of the sea, and they all wished to sail and own it.

But in order to do that, in order to ever be able to move beyond this, they had to leave Teach in the dirt for everything he’d done to them.

And for that, they had to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize I've never explained my reasoning for calling their new ship the Pequod xD For those who don't recognize it, it's the name of the ship in the Moby-Dick novel x) I just thought I should keep the trend :P


End file.
